Pretty Boy and Wolf Girl
by Snurfle
Summary: My own twisted version of Beauty and the Beast involving stylish coiffures lighting on fire, exploding scented candles, and various romances set against an age old story within a story. Rating may go up later on. Please R&R.


Okay, this is my first fairy tale fanfic but I have several in the making. It's my own twisted version of Beauty and the Beast and I was influenced by the Disney version as well as the various written ones that came before it. I don't own the B&B versions of Disney and any other written versions that have been copywrited but this story is pretty much mine so...yeah, you know the drill. Enjoy!

Pretty Boy and Wolf Girl

Chapter 1: Servants

The morning was dawning with the sun climbing above the mountainous horizon that encircled the land of Roma. Effectively cut off from trade, the country was mainly self-sufficient, though some merchants who were handsomely paid to compensate for the trouble and risk that ensued with the transporting of goods through the Storm Ring, as it was aptly called, brought some essentials through the steep crags. The royal family, by the name of Voulfe, was also hindered by the lack of international relations, though it was not but by the barest of whispers that it was spoken. A tradition of inbreeding had been held in high regard for hundreds of years, regardless of the nobility who were commonly preyed upon by a train of madness, not to mention the people commonly preyed upon by the nobility. But we shall come to that presently.

As before, the morning was rising slowly with the sun and already the castle Voulfe was alive with the busy workings of the servants. And they were all the more so bustling about by the tidings of the foreign prince arriving in three days. Indeed, such an event had never happened in many a long year, not even within the reign of the current king, Wilhelm III. And so it was with much consternation and haste that the castle was undertaken through and through with the very dirt upon which it stood being scoured for the tiniest bit of commonness to be pounced upon and swept away or covered up by the most fervent of actions.

Naturally the whole of the castle was in a state of flux, though not one to immerse herself in hysterics, Madame Stella Four, head of kitchen and housekeeping, kept the servants in line and on task as much as could possibly be expected in such a situation. To her credit, she did it admirably due mainly to her domineering personality. It was with such an attitude that morning that she was found in the lesser kitchen reprimanding Alice, a cleaning maid, on her late arousal, her general inattentiveness to her work, and as always with Alice, her forgetfulness.

"And how on earth you managed to sleep in so late with the castle in such a state of uproar, well, I just can't possibly know," Mme Four was saying while making expressive and expansive gestures with a frying pan she had been about to use before Alice had walked in.

"Uproar, ma'am?" the girl sleepily asked.

"Uproar? What do you mean, uproar? I refuse to believe that even _you_ failed to notice the frantic goings-on about the castle."

"Oh, yes, well, I thought Ms Fishaw was looking a little more harried than usual these days," Alice said rather absently, seeing a familiar lanky form with vibrant red hair strolling in through the side door.

"Well then, that explains everything now doesn't it," was the sarcastic reply, "Have you utterly cast from your mind the prince's arrival in three days time?" Mme Four demanded, waving the frying pan about so that a nearby scullery maid had to dodge quickly to the side for fear of getting hit.

"Oh!" Alice's eyes widened with sudden realization, "I'd plum forgotten all about it. I'm terribly sorry Mme Fork," she said, once again sidetracked by the fiery haired young man as he jauntily tossed back his head to laugh at something or other.

"Yes, well, be sure – _excuse me?_" Mme Four exclaimed almost dropping the cooking utensil, reacting to Alice's distracted misnaming. Fortunately for the girl, a short, fat, and balding man with a drooping moustache had just burst through the door, dodging serfs who were hurrying to and fro throughout the open chamber, to end at Mme's feet, begging her guidance and effectively sidetracking her from letting loose a barrage of reproving words on the maid.

"Oh, Mme. Four, I beseech your kind help and shrewd judgement to aid me in my woeful dilemma," he cried, rather awkwardly bending his rotund and diminutive stature into a form of supplication. Hearing him, the handsome young man who was the object of Alice's attention slowly drifted over to hear what the problem was this time. "My dear Mme," the short man continued, "do you believe the prince would prefer to dine at seven o'clock or eight? Oh, how we shall be ridiculed by such an august personage if… Oh, how embarrassing," he said, not being able to put into words the thoughts troubling his nervous mind. Mme Four was opening her mouth to say that it really didn't concern her as long as he informed her with enough time before hand that she would still be able to prepare the meals properly and without rush when she was pre-empted by an impertinent voice.

"Oh, my dear, _dear_, Lheure, you shouldn't worry yourself to bits and pieces over some small detail like that," the fiery haired man spoke, "what you should _really_ worry about is the poor prince's stylish coiffure accidentally catching fire during dinner from the chandelier dripping hot wax onto his chemically drenched and therefore highly flammable locks. Now _that_ would be embarrassing," he finished, a familiar, devilish look in his eyes. "Not to mention him upending his wine over himself in his panic to put it out," he added.

"It'd have to be water, fool boy," Mme Four interrupted, highly irritated by this young jackanapes getting Mr. Lheure into even more of a dither.

"Yes, of course it would have to be Mme, but he's not intelligent enough to realize that, be he in a panic or no, after all, he _is_ a prince."

"And just what are you suggesting about princes, may I ask, hmmm? Are you implying that the king is a fool?" Mme Four asked, shaking the frying pan near his freckled nose.

"Not at all, the king is a king, not a prince. However when he _was_ a prince, then yes, he was a fool, just as all young royals are before they come into their own," the young man said confidently, though looking at the pan with a wary eye.

Now, as this little bantering was going on, the man with the drooping moustache, so called Lheure, after getting over his initial fright of the prince's hair catching fire, had been trying to figure out a way to prevent it. This had led him to the fact that it couldn't possibly happen, due to that the chandelier was over the table, not the diners, and that the candles were sitting in small cups that were large enough to catch any wax which might drip into the food below. He was so contemplating this when the tone of the man's voice connected with his employment of illumination overseer (for lack of a better phrase) remembered him and he suddenly realized the true nature of the young man's speech. The horror of this realization struck him to the core and he spluttered and stuttered a bit before coherently (sort of) interrupting the dispute.

"But, but…. No! How? You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, wouldn't I?" the red head asked in a mischievous voice.

"Oohhh! Oh, oh, oh!" Lheure cried in anguish, burying his head in his hands and rocking back and forth on his heels. "This is terrible, just terrible!"

"Oh, keep your britches up, man," Mme Four spoke to him, "He's too cowardly to dare such a thing and not fool enough to try it either."

"Of course that's what you think. No offence, Mme, but those who wouldn't dare do things themselves don't have the right to judge whether or not those who do dare will or not," the young man intimated. It was now that Alice finally found a tongue to speak up with,

"I think you'd be awfully brave enough to do it, even if it does concern a foreign prince." Her voice quavered with shy admiration as she batted her eyelashes self-consciously.

"Course you do lovey, which goes to show you've still got a lot to learn 'bout the likes of me," he said cheerfully, "But don't give up, lass." The man winked at her and sauntered off to see about a sconce in the north wing that was rumoured to have been the site of a small explosion of one of the chandler's new spherical scented candles.

Alice blushed furiously and fidgeted with the frayed edge of her apron. Mme Four rolled her eyes and gave the girl a small shake to claim her attention.

"Now don't you be going paying any attention to the likes of him, you fool of a girl. If your smart you'll forget about him and concentrate on your work, now get going, you're behind all ready. Off you go," she said, herding the wistful Alice to the door with a few sharp pokes with the frying pan. That done with she turned to the limp moustached man with a slight glare, raising one eyebrow, "Well, was there anything else?" Lheure hesitated for an instant, for there were many other things, but taking a second glance at Mme's face made him think better of it.

"No, no, not at all, you've put all my worries to rest, most wondrous lady." Mme Four rolled her eyes and then narrowed them again.

"Then be off with ye! I've got more to do than can be done and no time at all for dilly-dalliers," she spoke, waving her frying pan about in exasperation. Lheure quickly made his exit, stumbling into a very tall, thin, and imperious man coming into the kitchen on his way out.

"And just what would you want, pray tell, M. Keyes?" Mme Four said, sketching a quick and mocking bow.

"I've come to inform your self that His Majesty, the king has arisen and is hungry. He commands his breakfast immediately," the stiff M. Keyes spoke elegantly yet concisely.

"His usual I presume?"

"How astute you are Mme,"

"I'm already in a bad mood, Ivan," she said, addressing M. Keyes informally, "don't make it worse. Tell the king it will be up in half an hour, I can't do any better than that this morning."

"His Majesty will not like this, I assure you," M. Keyes said with a slight frown.

"He never does, but he has to learn that it takes time to prepare food, especially the elaborate dishes he asks for," she spoke with some annoyance.

"This will grate on his temper, and might I remind you that his nerves are already frayed by our impending guest."

"What's he doing up so early anyway?" She questioned, "He usually doesn't get up until half past nine."

"His early arousal was due to a visit from our dearest Mathilde," the man said significantly, stressing the words 'dearest Mathide'.

"Oh, dear, and what did the little kettle want _this_ time?" Mme Four asked, using the nickname all the servants had long ago placed upon the king's middle daughter. It came about by someone's wry observation of the princess sounding like a steaming kettle when she screamed, which was often, as she usually lost her temper at least twice a day, and not just at the servants.

"A new dress for the prince's arrival of course," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Mme Four snorted at this.

"I'll do my best, but it won't be ready for fifteen minutes tops."

"And how exactly am I supposed to tell the king this without his throwing bedside statuettes at me?"

"Oh, you'll think of something, you've had so much practice at calming him down, it should be easy. And if it isn't, well, be thankful you've had lots of practice at dodging his missiles as well," she said with a twinkle in her eye. M. Keyes sighed, ducked his head in farewell, and was leaving the lesser kitchen when he turned back and spoke more softly,

"Oh, also, if you can find the time to prepare a small, rather soothing breakfast with tea. I'm afraid she had a rough night again, not feeling well at all."

"Of course, poor thing," Mme responded kindly, having no need to ask whom the 'she' was. And with that M. Keyes left, moving no less slowly than he had entered for all that he would encounter in the king's dressing chamber. As Mme had said, he'd had lots of practice, but calming His Majesty's temper was _never_ an easy thing.

Mme finally turned to the stoves to start preparing the king's usual breakfast of five poached eggs, half a side of bacon, and a glass of port with a shot of orange juice. Then she sighed and decided to start preparing everyone else's breakfast as well, let be it on their own heads if it was cold by the time they got up. She was just reaching for the pepper when she looked up and saw a dark hunched form in the far corner, reaching for one of the bottles on a high shelve. A strong stench of decay and dirt mixed with the odour of unwashed body stung her nostrils.

Mme Stella Four had already dealt with four problems this morning and had yet to start working on anything really useful when she would have usually already been working steady an hour ago. She was frustrated, tired, and impatient. The eggs were late and some fool slip of a girl had shrunk her favourite apron in the wash. This was the last straw. Mme Four grabbed up a large and heavy rolling pin from the rack and shouted angrily at the hulking beast.

"Get your hands off my cooking wine, fiend! I'll not have your filth and disease infecting my kitchens!" The form froze, and then slowly straightened to reveal a monster of a man. Almost six feet and heavily muscled with scraggly beard and hair that hadn't been combed for years, he wore heavy leather clothing that was little better than rags and a key ring on a thick rope around his neck that carried three large rusty keys. The man stood his ground and mumbled something low under his breath in a deep rough voice but his eyes were locked onto the heavy object raised in Mme Four's capable hand. "Go skulk back to your rat infested dungeons, brute, or you'll be having company with the master's ducks on the dinner table tonight, marinated in the wine you so dearly love! Not that you aren't already soaked in such juices," Mme Four added harshly, stepping towards the man with rolling pin held high. The hulk seemed uncertain, even in face of the Mme's formidable temper, but when she saw he wasn't moving and started forward with an aggravated yell he lost no time in bolting from the scene, presumably to slink back to the dungeons as Mme Four had so forcefully suggested.

Breathing heavily, the plump woman straightened her skirts and tucked some flyaway hair back into her bonnet. Red faced and grumbling about how unappreciated she was and how lax and incompetent the servants were, the head of kitchen and housekeeping turned back to the stoves and finally started to prepare the royal family's various breakfasts.

----------------------

Hope you liked it. Give me your thoughts on it. Specifically I'd like to know if I introduced too many characters in this chaprter. I'll try and update regularily but school's going to be starting soon and I don't always have the urge to write but I'll do my best. Thanks for reading.


End file.
